DAY 98: The Family Tree

Grandma got everybody together for blondies and lemonade, the better to ask us to get grandpa's skull.  He had died on the operating table the day before, and while his daughters - our mothers - wept and consoled each other, it was the grandchildren that were being entrusted with the solemn request.  His skull was to be cleaned and set into the family tree.

As it turned out, getting our hands on Grandpa's skull was the easy part.  Mr Wanabaker had known of Grandpa's wishes for years; he consulted with an immigrant butcher of indeterminate origin (who apparently possessed a sense of discretion, along with previous experience) to make the essential preparations.  When we went to the funeral home, Mr Wanabaker already had an urn, bearing the cremated remainder; he said the skull would be ready after the wake.

The wake was well-attended by many strangers, but we could sense those among the crowd who knew.  Whenever one of us would be mentioned as a grandson, the knowledgeable would respond with a narrowing of the eyes, as if they were studying our fortitude.  In their voiced condolence, they might spinkle in some tale of one of Grandpa's accepted challenges.  The conversation would usually end with a squeeze of the hand or shoulder, as if to say, "mind your grandpa, now..."

The next day, we received the skull, and returned to grandma's, for the next step.  She seemed bleary-eyed and agitated when she saw us on her step, and she scolded us for not calling first.  A minute after holding the skull, she was composed, and she led us to the southwest corner of the backyard.

The tree was massive, a testament to the resiliency of our lineage.  We had not planted it, but the tree had thrived from its symbiotic relationship with our ancestors.  Dwight looked up the trunk, and said to me, "You're the lightweight, dude.  Get up there."

It was 15 feet to the first branch; I started to argue with my cousin.  But the clatter of Grandma trying to drag over the ladder and hatchet defused our tiff.  We took the items from her hands; while my cousin made off with the ladder, she passed me the hatchet and said, "He wanted to be up in the crown, and facing the sunrise."

Unlike me, Dwight had visited our grandparents when he was tree-climbing age, so he gave me directions.  "Just look for Grandpa Malcolm - he'll be the lowest - and put Grandpa about twelve inches under him.  Resting above a branch is better, and threading a branch through him is great, too.  Just make sure it's gonna stay."

The ladder put me in reach of the low branch.  Slowly, I pulled myself up until I reached my great-grandfather.  His skull was half-embedded, the bark barely an inch behind his sockets.  I craned my neck upward, and counted three others, swallowed in various stages.  I even thought I saw the outline of a fifth, almost completely.obscured.

With a stick, Grandma tapped the side of the tree she chose; a twinge of vertigo made it feel like an earthquake.  But I found the best spot I could for Grandpa, and carved his 'seat.'  After a few minutes, I yelled down for the skull.  Dwight tossed first, but didn't reach me, and it fell back to Earth.  Grandma caught it with her apron, glaring at both of us before we made a second try.  The second try was good, and I set Grandpa in his final resting place.

When I was done, I yelled them to stand clear, and dropped the axe.  But back on the ladder, I had a second thought.  I pulled out my set of keys, searching for the least useful one.  I pulled it off the ring, with a Mt Rushmore souvenir keychain attached; I jammed the key into the tree, about two feet below Grandpa.  Patting an apology to the tree, I began my descent. 

inspired by Discover Magazine article, "A Drop of Goo Becomes World Famous"

DAY 95: The Sniper Sniper

Nicolau took a swig of his drink, and studied his improvised coaster.  "These are - or were - snipers. I tracked two of them down myself.  We captured this one" -pointing at one crossed-out name - "last year.  I was assigned to interrogate him.  He provided intel for intel: he asked about the fates of the men he named on this list.  I confirmed that we had captured and killed all but two.  The day I told him of Lubov's death - this one- he laughed.  He said 'Now there is only the Wolf.'
"He was happy to tell me which kills were done by who; he thought it honored his fallen.  He was more matter-of-fact about his own kills.  But his stories about the Wolf were the most elaborate, for they were the closest to impossible.  He was almost giddy about spreading the fear.

Nicolau began arranging the condiments on the table.  "I learned as much about the Wolf as I could.  I almost flushed him out once, in Zagreb.  I learned he doesn't do bell towers - there are so few left, they are too easy targets.  Better for him a factory, and a hundred targets.  I learned he uses our own munitions, or whatever he can find. I learned that he waited two days to complete an assignment, so his target could get shot on a beautiful day.  He also shot one of our generals on the toilet, from 300 yards away.
"One day, this guy" -pointing again at the list, "-requests yard time.  First sun in almost a week.  So he goes out into the yard, does some stretches, faces the sun-"  He pantomimes a firing gun.  "Dead before he hit the ground.  The Wolf."

Nicolau tipped the waitress and slipped on his jacket.  "Finish your drink.  It's a beautiful day."



Inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Death of a Storm Chaser"

DAY 85: Seeding the Clouds

When I was born, my mom wanted me to follow a life path of my own choosing.  But my father found a way around it.  For many years, a typical bedtime included lesson time; dad would come in and ask me to teach him something I had learned that day.  So I taught him about the letter R, the number 6, "twinkle twinkle", how to share...  He was patient with all of it.  Sometimes, we'd stare up at the bedroom walls, painted to look like heavenly clouds, and we'd tell stories of the things that lived there.

"What's that one?"  he'd say.

"Mop-mop.  It looks like the head of a mop!"

He squinted at it.  "I suppose.  What about that one next to it?"

"Go-gi!"

"I like that one.  What are they doing?"

"Gogi makes food for everybody in his restaurant.  And then somebody on the other side of the cloud calls in their order, and Gogi's delivers!  That's the delivery bubble over there."

"Wow.  There's a lot of delivery trucks on that cloud.  That's a big one!"

"That's Lisa's garbage truck.  She doesn't deliver food.  And it's bubbles!.  They're all bubbles!"

***

After placement testing in junior high, I was never in one grade again.  The year that I took eighth grade english and gym, I was also enrolled in ninth grade spanish and history, tenth grade biology, AP calculus, and played 2nd chair cello.  Mom also had me cook family dinner once a week.

It was in biology class that I learned one of my dad's tricks.  Our teacher was introducing us to the components of the typical mammalian cell unit, via a video presentation and a monotone narration.  "The cell membrane is the semi-porous outer boundary that keeps the organelles contained.  At the center is the nucleus, the cell's 'brain' ; this is surrounded by the endoplasmic reticulum (both smooth and rough.)  Enzymes are transported throughout the cell by vesicles, to or from the nucleus, the mitochondria, the golgi apparatus..."

That took me back to my room, and the painted ceiling; to Gogi and MopMop, to Lisa and Nuclearman and Mighty Condi...  As we watched archival footage of a typical single cell organism's life cycle, I saw a neighborhood that had been floating over my head for years.  I knew them, how they helped each other and why.  That class didn't teach me anything new about cell structure.  But it did teach me that my dad's a sneaky guy.



inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Immune Attack Up Close"

DAY 82: Night Survey

Parnicius woke up strapped to the table.  As he became increasingly aware of the degree of his restraints, he began to panic and struggle. The forehead strap gave enough, so Parnicius turned to his right.  Nicodimus was strapped down and vivisected, his mouth held wide open for inspection.  Parnicius's scream startled a masked man in a surgeon's apron; he dropped the metal pan in his hands.
Martin stomped in the tent.  "Enough with ye!" he shouted, served with a Scottish burr and a backhand.  He rested an elbow on the familiar's chest, pressing the air out of Parnicius, until he was barely a whisper.  "We got questions, so save your breath for 'em!"  The hunter stood up, allowing Parnicius to gasp for air.
Martin turned his attention to the man on the floor.  "Geddup, Monty!  An' pick up that heart!"
Monty dusted himself off.  "Sorry.  I got startled, dropped my guard.  Won't happen again..."
"It rarely happens twice, yeah?"  Martin pointed at the dead one.  "What can ye tell me about him?"

Monty began the autopsy.  "Advanced necrosis of the extremities; necrotic tissue in significant portions of the heart and lungs...  The jaw separates in three areas... teeth comparable in count and structure of human teeth.  The canines, however - do not retract."
"Really?  That's interesting.  An' the eyes?"
Monty peeked under an eyelid.  "Yellow sclera, no iris...  Carpathian?"
Martin grinned wide.  "Carr-pathian!  We got us a royal!  Box up that heart, an' keep ye jesus tree under ye shirt, or the whole tent'll go up!"

Martin turned his attention back to Parnicius, studying his neck and wrists.  "Did ye know that about ye friend?  He's a classic, he was; real archetype.   You ever see him turn into a bat?"
Monty interjected, "Are you sure that's safe, sir?"
"Oh, this runt's nothing!  See for y'self!"  Martin pulled his protege toward their prisoner.  "Flush cheeks, harried breath, pissed pants:  he's a familiar!"
Martin pulled the silver cross off Monty's neck and waved it over Parnicius, "Does this hurt?  Does it?"  Parnicius shook his head.
Martin placed the cross on Parnicius' forehead. "Does that hurt?  Eh?"
Martin swatted his forehead, shaking the table and yielding a yowl from Parnicius.  "How about that?  Y'see?  No reaction to the Holy Cross or to contact with silver, and he's got a thin skin! Ain't no vampire; just some boy in black lace who didn't get hugged enough, did ye?  Just a snack on standby!"

"Who the hell are you?" Parnicius whimpered.
"Martin Van Helsing, scion of Professor Abraham, and inheritor of his life's work, converting pseudo-science to science.  Monty there's me assistant, aide-de-campe, and Boswell.  Your master there is one of 70 species we've cataloged in our field guide. And you... well, you're bait."



inspired by Discover Magazine article, "New Disputes Over Psychiatry's Manual"

DAY 66: I Lost My Heart on the Super Coaster

I lost my girlfriend to the Sunshine Valley Super Coaster.

Up to that point, it had been a fun day at the park.  We had enjoyed some other rides, played some games, even watched a sidewalk magician... half-way around the park, before she was willing to stand in line for as long as it would take to get on the coaster.  She swore she hated coasters, even as she admitted she'd never been on one.  But I beat her at a boat race, and I promised I would win her something at the skee-ball, so she relented and checked her phone as we waited in line, until it was our turn to board.
She was audibly nervous, especially when they sat us in the front cab.  She double-checked her restraints (and mine), while I kept trying to reassure her, telling her stories about other coasters even bigger and faster than this, so this won't be a problem.  But as soon as the coaster pulled out, and the clacking and hissing began, she started muttering in hyperspeed, "idon'twannadothis,idon'twannadothis..."  I laughed off her anxiety, raising my arms up and whooping with others in anticipation.  She told me how much I owed her for putting her in this predicament, and probably getting her killed, while everything left our field of vision but sky...
...and then we plunged.  And the screaming began.

At first, it was hilarious, all of us screaming as we plummeted, and her the loudest.  Not just screaming, but cussing, digging her fingers into my leg, holding on for dear life...
By the end of the first dip, she was hyperventilating, cussing in tongues, while we were twisted and titled at breakneck speed.  By the second dip, her yells were deafening.
On the third incline, most of us were catching our breath, laughing - and so was she, but more so.  Her hands were tight on the armbars now, and her eyes were barely open.  That's when the thought entered my head, remembering the screams she made the night she heard something bang up against the front door, or when she startled a mouse in her kitchen.  This moment was different.
When we returned, she couldn't get out of the cab by herself.  I was her crutch, as she wobbled her way to the exit.  She asked to go again, but I told her I had a prize I promised to win her.  I ended up winning her a polar bear as big as she was; she asked me to hold it while she went on the coaster again.  When I caught up with her later, she was waiting at the exit with a cigarette.

Things were not the same after that; two weeks later, it was over.  I lost her to the Super Coaster.  She left me the bear.


inspired by Discover Magazine article, "New Evidence for Flavor-Switching Neutrinos"

DAY 62: Her impeccable sense of direction

She dumped him the night before he lost the game. He didn't lose the first time she saw me, picking off his toss from three yards away.  She consoled him all the way to the victory bus. Meanwhile, she saw me.
She knew me when I walked in on her shift, and she made my sandwich anyway.  I wanted to talk to her, and she said anything but football. So I shut up and let her talk, about school and after school, and life after school. That week, I had my first scoring interception.  I couldn't see her in the stands, but I could still feel her with me.  That was a good night.
The next week, I thought I wouldn't see her, until I did.  She was waiting in the parking lot; his team had a road game.  She celebrated with me, let me cheer her up. Another good night.
He found me the next week.  I was ready for a fight; I wasn't ready for what he said He said she'd been his girlfriend since her last boyfriend moved to Auburn. He said she's dropped him before, then came back when his team got their hot streak.  He said to tell her he wasn't gonna take her back when they were winning again. He said she dumped him the night before he lost the game.
I tried not to tell her. But she knew, and she said I was stupid for listening to him. "I'm just a girl!  I'm not a good luck charm! I don't even like football!"
She dumped me. Tomorrow's the game.


inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Found: The Brain's Own GPS"

DAY 44: Ray's Story (more than a little Emo...)

I met Ray at the waiting room of an urgent care clinic.  I asked him what he was there for, which started this tale:

"I was an only kid growing up, just me, my mom and dad.  Saturdays, you got my mom in the kitchen, my dad in the garage, and me in a beach towel for a cape, trying to get somebody to play with me.  I say, 'Daddy! Daddy! Play with me!' He says, 'I will, I will, here's some candy, go find your mother.'  I run to the kitchen- 'Mommy! Mommy!  Play with me!'  She says 'I will, I will, have a cookie, go find your father.'  Run back to the garage- 'Daddy! Daddy! Play with me!'  He says, 'We are, we are, grab a licorice, bug your mother.'  Back in the kitchen 'Mommy! Mommy!', another cookie, 'go to father.'  To the garage, out the door, I trip on my cape- boop! on my nose...  Dad comes out of the garage, helps me to my feet, checks me out, and yells to the house, '15-love!  Coming at ya!'

"...and that is why I have diabetes."


inspired by Discover Magazine article, "The Secret Origins of Cosmic Rays".  and Emo Phillips.